I awoke this morning to the aroma of bacon frying. I stumbled into the kitchen to find Jared at the stove with a skillet of bacon.

“That smells so good!” I said, “Is it for me?”

“No.” He replied with a very fake scowl that quickly turned into a smile, “Yes. Happy Mother’s Day.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to fry bacon.” I added as I snatched a piece.

“I’m pretty much winging it.” He said with full teenage confidence, “But looks like it’s working.”

And it was. I was totally impressed by the plate of perfectly fried bacon on his left. It was not too crispy, but thoroughly and evenly cooked—the way, of course, that God intended bacon to be prepared.

“I’m surprised there are so many pieces left!” I added as I snatched my second piece.

He was adding more to the skillet as he replied, “Well, I can’t eat any while I have raw bacon on my hands.”

I totally gushed with pride. I felt quite sure there was not a mother in this world who, at that very moment, could be more pleased with her son.

As moms, we tend to pour all that we are and all that we have into this difficult task of raising our kids. We laugh, we cry, and sometimes we hide in the closet with a cocktail, but we never forget that what we are doing could possibly be the crowning achievement of our contributions in this life.

I have thought so much about what I wanted to accomplish during this interesting stage of parenting. What I want most is to be growing good men… men that would someday make good husbands and good friends…men that could sufficiently care for themselves, cook for themselves, and feel content with themselves. I feel as though I received a glimpse of that today.

It has been a lazy 15th Mother’s Day for me, which is really my favorite kind of day, filled with flowers and cards, and guys trying not to argue. But the greatest gift I received today was the sight of my disheveled 15 year old son standing at the stove in his boxers. Look out ladies….this one is going to be quite a catch some day!